In Sheep's Clothing
by TearoToHero
Summary: When the Reaping for the 66th annual Hunger Games rolls around, Fern Galloway is far from nervous. More concerned with making those around her happy and laughing, she barely even considers the possibility of her own name being pulled from the ball. All changes when she steps forward as volunteer for District 10 tribute. Nothing is as it seems.
1. Chapter 1

Reaping Day is never easy. I know it's coming, my daddy knows it's coming, hell, the world knows it's coming but there's nothing we can do about it. With so many people in the loop you'd think we'd have a strategy to make it better by now, especially after sixty-six years of this.

I'm facing my sixth and it still hasn't happened yet.

The routine is always the same – I get up, wash in the lukewarm water my brother leaves out for me, then dress in the finest clothes my daddy can afford to give me. Even if it's not much I love him just for trying. He only ever wants the best for us.

As I shrug a coarse woollen jacket over my shoulders to fend off the cold, my brother calls out, "It's nearly time!"

"I'm coming... I'm coming..." I race to shove my feet into the dirty, practical boots that are commonplace in District 10 – they're useful for when we're out in the mud. I got mine two years ago when I started work on the farms with my brother.

"Hurry up!" he yells, and I can hear the impatient tap of his foot from the other room. I make a mad dash through just to shut him up but before I can say a word he has me in a hug so tight I can barely breathe. Kita is nineteen now, so he doesn't have to worry like I do, but I can tell by the way his big hands keep me close that he's worrying anyway.

I bump my forehead against his broad chest and he lets go. "I need to breathe," I say and force a smile to make him feel better. "I want to make the most of that luxury while I've got the chance. It's the little things, see."

Kita frowns at me, his heavy brows pulling together into a comically thick line. It looks like a slug from this angle and I half expect it to wander off when he says, "Don't joke about that."

"It's only a joke if it's funny," I say, "and you didn't laugh so I'm off the hook."

He rolls his dark eyes and reaches down to stroke my matted brown curls. Try as I might, I just can't get a brush through them to make them look any neater. It's okay, though, because the other girls in my district aren't very pretty either. We are united in our ugliness.

"What're you laughing at?" Kita taps the tip of my nose with one tanned finger. Just being around him makes the day that much better - maybe it's said too much, but I really do think I have the best brother in all of Panem. He'll make a great father.

"Possibly the funniest girl alive," I tell him with a grin as I picture him with a wife on his arm and a kid on his shoulders. "Who also happens to predict the future in her spare time."

"Uh-huh?" He snorts and takes a step back. "What does the future hold, Fern the Wise?"

Fern the Wise. I have to admit I like the sound of that. "The future holds a pretty wife for you – I think she'll be a milkmaid, a blonde with a strong temper and child-birthing hips." I prop my hands on my own hips for comedic emphasis. "Together you'll spawn six little ones and name them all after cows."

"Not likely." Kita laughs and messes my hair again. "And what's in yours, kiddo?"

I puff my chest up and try to sound as official and important as I can. "The Reaping."

Daddy didn't show up until the two of us, arm in arm, were walking a short-cut over one of the cattle fields to get to the Reaping ceremony. He, like Kita, was big and strong and brown from years working under the hot sun. Unlike Kita, he can't manage a smile or a hug when he sees me.

"It's time already?" Daddy reaches up to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. As usual he spent the morning out working hard for our well-being. When we nod, he sighs. "I hoped I'd have time for at least a change of clothes."

"You look great," I tell him. "Tough as nails and twice as shiny."

Kita laughs for my sake and nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. "The nails around here are rusty, Fern, that one doesn't count, either."

"But you laughed," I point out, laughing. "Joke's already been validated."

Daddy clears his throat and looks from Kita to me, his frown wrinkling his forehead. "Can we keep it quiet for a little while?" he asks. "Just until this is over, then you can laugh as much as you want."

I nod and release my arm from Kita's so that I can hug him because I know he can't make the first move. He feels warm and strong, but, most importantly, he feels alive. There's an underlying hint of cows' waste to him that I want to crack a joke about, but I hold that back by biting down on my tongue. "Daddy," I say, "will you walk with us?"

He smiles though it doesn't reach his eyes. "I'd be honoured to."

And we do. We all make our way down to the Reaping in terse silence that makes my skin itch and my head pound. All these jokes and jibes hang on the tip of my tongue willing themselves free, though they never make it out into the open. Daddy shoots me sidelong glances every two steps to make sure of it. He looks so worried that I want to hug him again, and Kita, too, in the hopes they'd calm down a little.

This isn't their day, it's mine. I'm selfish thinking it even though I know it's true. I don't tell them about the sinking feeling in my gut because it's always there on Reaping Day.

If it wasn't for the Peacekeepers who shove me into line with the rest of the kids I would have said a goodbye just in case. Sometimes I wish they weren't so brutal with us – it's bad enough they have those garish white uniforms and the guns at their belts. I'm not scared of them, though, there are much worse things in our world than their brute force.

Like the rest of the older girls, I'm up front near the stage – I'd be glad to have such a good view if this was anything other than what it was. At least from here I can see our escort, Kazia Hopperman, and her strange Capitol clothing. This year she wears a mix of greens and browns that make her look kinda like a tree. I wonder if she missed the memo and thought she had District 7 this year instead.

The girls around me chatter in hushed tones until Kazia steps forward and adjusts the microphone so that it's level with her green lips. "Ladies and gentleman," she purrs in that wilfully low voice of hers. "Welcome to the Reaping for the 66th annual Hunger Games."

After that I begin to stop paying attention – there's no need to listen to the things I already know. A girl will be reaped and she'll die, a boy will be reaped and he'll die, too. Maybe not at first – though our district usually falls out of the race right from the bloodbath – but it'll come eventually. I'm surprised we still have four living victors, distant though they always seem to be.

When I look over at the stage again, I notice this year it's Hannibal and Ivy who have been chosen to mentor the tributes. They're both somewhere in their thirties, maybe forties, I'd guess. I don't remember their Games, but the dark smile Ivy always seems to wear makes me think hers must have been brutal. Hannibal pats her arm as Kazia jumps back to life once the time comes to pick the lucky tributes.

"For the ladies," Kazia says, scanning the crowd as though she can spot the girl she's about to give the death sentence even before she pulls that tiny slip of paper from the bowl.

My heart races and my palms begin to sweat as the girl beside me drops her head onto my shoulder. I think her name is Layla White, and I know she has three sisters of Reaping age somewhere in this crowd. She sniffles and I feel wetness through the wool of my jacket – it makes my heart ache to know I can't say a thing to make her feel better. I'd like to tell her my joke about Kazia the tree woman.

I know what's coming even before Kazia opens her mouth to say it.

"Iris White."

Layla's scream is muffled by my shoulder, but her sister doesn't have that luxury as she's thrust from the crowd and into the line of fire. Iris comes somewhere from the middle – I'd say she's maybe fourteen or fifteen – and she shakes with every step. If it wasn't for her tan she would have been pale as a ghost, as it was she just looked washed out and tired.

I am a monster for feeling relieved.

"It's okay," I murmur as Iris mounts the stage. Neither me nor Layla listen when she is introduced to us all because she's too busy crying and I'm too busy trying to get her to stop. If they peacekeepers decide we're disturbing the ceremony there's gonna be hell to pay. "Shh."

Kazia has moved to the other ball in record time, probably because she wants to save Iris the humiliation of having to sob on stage for a moment longer than is absolutely necessary. It's a nice thought, even if it isn't the truth.

"And now for the boys," the walking tree says and bats her lashes at us. How she can stand up there and flirt with her unwilling audience is both beyond my comprehension and admirable as anything I've ever seen. Paper in hand she smiles down at us all before she reads off his name in that sultry purr, "Talon Aldjoy."

I don't recognise the name, but I see someone moving from the very back of the boys' lines, so he must only be young. As with Iris, he is given a hearty shove until he starts walking of his own will towards the stage. His hair is the colour of old copper and too long to be practical for a boy, but that's all I notice about him before Kazia pulls him to stand on her other side. She places a hand on each of their shoulders and Layla's heart breaks just a little more when she looks up to see her sister standing there, wet-faced and trembling.

"Since it's customary to ask," Kazia says, and her smile brightens to blinding status when Talon beside her manages not to cry. She's proud of him, I can see it. I am, too.

"Ahem." Kazia clears her throat and looks down at the sea of relieved faces we have morphed into. "Any volunteers?"

It's Layla's sob that makes me do it. I want more than anything for her to stop crying because she's ruining my jacket and Daddy worked hard to buy it for me. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks once the idea hits me.

I step forward and raise my voice as loud as it can go. "I volunteer."

It's not my fault it comes out in a mockery of Kazia's dulcet tones, honestly, I just can't take it serious. If I did, I think I might just cry. Layla is silenced as she squeezes my shoulder in thanks. I try to tell her that it's not for her sake – it would be a horrid thing indeed to leave her with that thought when she sees me die – but no words come out.

Kazia's eyes lock on mine as I push my way through the frozen girls. "Well," she says, more surprised than she should have been. "Come on up."

We've had volunteers before – there are often boys who work on the farms that fancy themselves strong enough to give it a go – but not in the time she's been with our district. Kazia is almost as new to us as her plastic talons are to her.

I pass Iris on my way up as she is waved off the stage and for a second I brush her hand with my own. "Sorry for stealing your spotlight," I whisper and wink. It's nice to see the half-smile she shoots me in return, even if it is forced and full to the brim with sorrow. At least I tried.

Kazia reaches out to take my hand and guide me into place on her right, switching back to her professionalism in the blink of an eye. I can't help but marvel at how good she is in front of the cameras. "Well-" she pauses to adjust her microphone to my height so things are easier on me. "Would you like to tell us your name?"

"Can I choose a new one?" I ask her, grinning away my nerves as is habit for me. "Mine's a little boring." I don't look out at the crowd because I know if I do I'll see Kita shake his head at me and Daddy struggling to keep it together. We'll get our goodbyes when the time is right.

"Come, dear." Kazia's laugh is fake and I want to hug her for it. "Your real name is preferable."

I reach up and primp my hair with one hand, trying to imitate Kazia to the best of my ability with confidence and tree-woman grace. "Fern Galloway. Fern the Wise." I can feel my brother's smile even if I don't see it.

Kazia nods and steps back so me and Talon have empty space between us. Before she tells us a thing, he initiates a stiff handshake that makes my fingers hurt as he squeezes them tight. "Ladies and gentlemen," she says, "your tributes for the 66th annual Hunger Games – Fern Galloway and Talon Aldjoy."


	2. Chapter 2

I'm taken to a room on my own before I have the time to say a thing to Talon. I'd like better to get to know the boy I'm going to die with, but I suppose I'll have time enough for that on the train to the Capitol. For now, at least, I have to focus on my family.

Kita comes first, slipping through the door quick as a flash so I barely have time to see the peacekeeper on the outside. He doesn't hug me this time, but instead sighs. "Fern the Wise?" he says and grins at me. It's nice to see he means it in the way his dark eyes crinkle at the corners with the effort.

"You said it first," I tell him. "I just wanted to share it with the world before they forget."

He stretches out his arm and claps me on the shoulder. Kita's grin fades and his jaw clenches when he stares down at me. "Why?" is all he can ask.

"Because Layla White was ruining my jacket," I say, jutting my chin up to be as haughty as I can. "Fashion like this doesn't grow on trees, Kita, it would've been a shame to let it go to waste as a snot-rag."

He doesn't laugh. "This is serious, Fern. You shouldn't have done that."

"You say it like I don't have a chance." I do my best to pout. "Where's the faith, brother?"

"Most of it's with the Career tributes, I'd wager," he replies coolly. "You're a stupid, stupid girl." Before I can whine about that, Kita catches me and pulls me close for the second time that day. "I thought it would be your name," he admits, "I had a feeling that..."

"Me too," I say, hiding my face in the coarse material of his shirt. I'll miss this – somehow I don't think the arena will favour physical comfort like me and Kita do. If I'm lucky I can hug a tree. Maybe Kazia will volunteer...

"You're laughing again," Kita tells me. "Why?"

"Because my escort is a tree and our district has nothing to do with lumber."

Kita's laugh rumbles in his belly and makes me shake with the power of it. "She's thinking outside the box," he says as the door opens and it's time for him to go. Kita tightens his grip on me long enough to whisper in my ear, "I'll be cheering you on, Fern. Use that wisdom and come back to see my six kids, okay?"

His voice cracks and suddenly my brother is pulled away from me. "Try your best," Kita says and then he's gone. The door shuts behind him and I'm left to my thoughts, not that I have many of them right now besides the fact I might have just wasted my last minutes with Kita. I didn't even tell him I love him.

I think I want to cry, but my eyes feel dry and kinda sore. I reach up and touch the wet wool at my shoulder and decide that Layla has cried enough for the both of us.

It feels like an eternity passes before Daddy shows up, and he's not alone. Holding his arm as though she's his anchor to the here and now is Layla White. They make a strange pair; she's tiny a blonde with her tear-stained face glistening faintly; and my daddy looks big, strong, and silent. He doesn't even meet my eyes for a short and painful while.

"I didn't know you knew each other," I say when nothing else comes to mind. My eyes flicker to Layla's face because, for now, she's easier to look at. "Why aren't you with Iris?"

"I'll see her soon," Layla assures me. Her smile is pretty and I regret not knowing her more. She seems like she might make a good friend for me, without the tears, of course. "I wanted to say thanks and..." she trails off, glancing at my daddy.

"Save the thanks," I tell her. "I get to go off and enjoy the Capitol luxury while you guys are stuck here with cows and grass. I'm the lucky one."

"You are," she agrees. I try my best to ignore the concerned look she's giving me – it's not nice when someone thinks you've lost your mind. I'm not going to let her know that I was thinking the same about her.

Daddy coughs but says nothing.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask him, shrugging out of my jacket and draping it over one arm.

"Mad?" he repeats, blinking slowly at me. "Mad doesn't quite cover it."

"You can yell at me if it helps, I'll respect your parental choices." I can hear the smile in my own voice and, for a second, I think he's going to laugh and break all this horrible tension.

He scowls and stumbles back, hands shaking by his sides. "This isn't the time for those... those... jokes," Daddy splutters. "Don't you realise what you've done? Don't you?"

My eyes widen and I open my mouth to retort but no sound comes out.

"It wasn't you," he says. "It wasn't you and it didn't have to be you. One more year – we could have made it through one more and then you could have lived your life as you ought to. Stupid girl."

I frown. To hear Kita call me that was okay because he managed to smile when he said it, but Daddy is serious. Deathly so. The way he glares at me with those hazel eyes and his lips pulled back over his teeth gives me shivers.

"I didn't mean to upset you," I mutter, no hint of joking in my voice. For the first time in a long time, I have nothing more to say.

When he leaves I am grateful. Layla manages to linger just long enough to thank me again and take the jacket I give her. "Wash it," I say. "And keep it. It's more your DNA than mine now, I think."

With a weak smile she leaves and I'm glad to be alone again.

Talon says nothing to me as we are taken aboard the train. In fact, I think he does his best to avoid making even a second of eye contact with me. It hurts, but I don't hold it against him. I'm still reeling from my last goodbye – if you could even call it that – with Daddy. Nobody came after him to lighten the mood and I don't know what to make of that. Some company would have been nice, but real friends back home are hard to come by.

Back home. Back home. Even thinking those words makes me feel uneasy. We only pulled away from District 10 moments ago and already it's like miles – and years, too, distance is better measured in time – have passed by without my notice. Hannibal and Ivy are huddled close in two cushy chairs by a food-stacked table that makes my mouth water just to look at. They must hear my stomach grumble, too, because they're looking right at me.

"Hi," I say, walking over before the few nerves I have can get the better of me. It's easier to fake confidence when Ivy drops her stare. "I'm Fern."

"We know," Ivy drawls, checking over her nails which have been sharpened to lethal points. "It's our business to know the tributes' names, and the rest of the Panem's, too."

I raise a dark brow at her. "You know all the names in Panem? Wow, you must have a real good memory."

Ivy glares and Hannibal clears his throat before she can shoot me down for that pathetic attempt at a joke. "Fern the Wise, was it?" he asks and rakes a steady glance over me from head-to-toe. It's a strange feeling, but that dulls when he speaks again, "A volunteer."

"It's not unheard of." I shuffle my feet and look down at my boots. From the walk to the Reaping, they're caked in fresh mud that I'm sure leaves prints behind me. "I fancied my chances."

"I don't," Ivy says. "Not at all." Her eyes flicker towards the screen on the wall. "You need to see the other tributes, see how stupid a mistake you just made."

"If everybody could stop calling me stupid for just five minutes, that'd be great."

"Mouthy," Ivy notes. "Aren't you scared, little girl?"

"Terrified," I admit with a nod launching into a spiel of babble I didn't know I had in me. "Honestly, I don't know what the heck I'm doing here, only that I can't go back. I don't know what I was thinking, or why I did that, or what I'm going to do when I get in there. I don't know what my brother's going to do, or how he's going to deal with Daddy when I'm gone. I don't know if I could bring myself to kill, or even if I want to try and survive this."

Hannibal reaches over and pats my hand. "There's a lot you don't know," he says and smiles at me. "Lucky we have all this time to figure it out."

"Lucky isn't the word I'd go for," Ivy mentions.

I breathe a sigh of relief and shake my head to push away the nerves that nibble on my good sense. "I agree with you," I tell Ivy. "Lucky doesn't sound right. Is fortunate too close? Or maybe we could go for pleasant? Or okay? Or-"

"Sarcasm?" Ivy guesses with a bitter kind of laugh. Her teeth, I notice, are the same strange green-white as her head. I hope for her health's sake they're Capitol alterations and not a natural decline of her physical state. Maybe she survived her Games by eating nothing but peas and they've changed her appearance forever.

I shrug. "I honestly don't know."

"Well pull up a chair," Hannibal says, gesturing to an empty seat beside him. I sink into it without a word of protest and he flashes me a faint smile. "Where's the boy?"

"I think he went to-"

Talon clears his throat from where he stands in the doorway, Kazia beaming behind him. His cheeks are wet and there are smudges of the green Kazia wears on her cheeks colouring his forehead. "I'm here," he mumbles. "Hope I didn't miss anything."

Ivy's brows shot up into her hairline, but Hannibal spoke before she could ask the question on her mind. "Nothing much." He shook his head. "Sit. We can still catch a few of the Reaping ceremonies, get a feel for your competitors."

"What's the point?" Talon sighs and takes his seat. For a boy of twelve, he does a good impression of an aged old soul with his shoulders slumped and a permanent frown twisting down the corners of his mouth. "Not like we stand a chance."

"Don't count us out so soon, kid," I say and flash him by goofiest smile. "Never know, could be an arena full of cattle with the only solution milking our way out. Then we'd win, no doubt about it."

Hannibal and Kazia laugh – though I wasn't joking for their benefit, it's nice to hear a little appreciation – but Talon just stares blankly right at me. His eyes are glassy and I can't help but think he's going to cry. "That's not funny," he says, his voice thick with emotion. Talon kicks at one of the table-legs. "Won't happen anyway."

Ivy surprises me by nudging him with her foot. "Don't count it out, kid, nothing is too extreme for our beloved Games."

By the time we're all settled, the only Reaping we watch together is District 2's, since none of us can sit still long enough to wait for another. When the catch-up rolls around, I'm sure the mentors will force us to watch and see who else we'll be facing.

The Career district holds up to its reputation with two volunteers, though theirs don't look like they made the sporadic sacrifice I did – the two of them are lethal as they ascend the stage. Both are good looking blondes with bright eyes and brighter smiles as the crowd cheers for them.

Three of twenty-three names I know now – Talon, Magnus, and Silver. I vow to learn the rest before we're pitted against each other in a few days' time. Maybe if I remember their names, someone will remember mine and this won't all have been such a stupid whim.

And maybe the arena _will _be full of cows.


	3. Chapter 3

I like Hannibal immensely – he laughs when I make a joke, pats my knee if I stop talking and start thinking too much – he reminds me a lot of Kita. While Ivy and Kazia began to bicker their way through this incessant journey and Talon retreated to his own room so as not to have to deal with us any longer, Hannibal remained by my side.

"Any tips?" I ask him as we watch Ivy disappear into the next carriage.

Hannibal quirks a dark brow. "Tips for what?"

"The Games."

He laughs and shakes his head. "That much I'd guessed – which part? There's more to it than what happens in the arena, Fern, keep that in mind."

"Could you just start from the beginning?" I plead, batting my short lashes his way. "I'm gonna need all the help I can get, if you couldn't tell that already."

"True," he agrees and I stick my tongue out at him. "Are you sure you want to talk about it? The subject isn't one we can evoke much laughter from, dear."

"I can be serious if I need to," I assure him. My fingers play with one of my dark curls to give them something better to do than tap on my legs. I wonder what they'll do to me when we reach the Capitol – over the years there have been some extreme makeovers that I would loathe to have. Our district are usually primped and dressed as cows or farmers, so I know not to expect much going into it all. I have to remind myself that I'm not going for the fashion.

Even if I don't yet have a solid answer for why I _am _going through with this – not that I could back out – it's important to stop myself expecting too much of the clothes they'll give me. At least Layla White won't cry on these.

Hannibal snaps his fingers in front of my eyes, rousing me from those thoughts. I like that he seems to know what I need and when I need it. He manages another laugh, forced or not, and says, "Serious and daydreams don't go hand in hand."

"I don't think serious would hold hands with anybody," I say. "Seems like exactly the kind of thing it'd avoid. It's hard to imagine a-"

His glare stops me short of babbling once again and I nod my thanks.

"Got it," I tell him. "I'll just shut up and you talk, okay? Okay."

Hannibal settles back and laces his hands together over his rounded stomach. His left hand is missing a pinkie finger – I hadn't noticed before, but now that I've seen it I'm finding it hard to look away. "Bloodbath," he explains. "I was lucky to get away with only that minor loss."

"I wouldn't call a body part minor."

"In comparison, it was," Hannibal says. "My district partner lost her right leg, and, soon after, her head. I got away lightly."

I swallow back bile that wants to rise in my throat and giggle to fill the uncomfortable silence. "Guess she needed more of a head start, eh?"

Hannibal sighs and shakes his head. "Serious," he reminds me, "that's nothing to joke about, Fern. You'll see soon enough."

"I'm starting to realise that."

"Good," Hannibal says. "Now can I talk?"

I bite down on my tongue until I taste blood, nodding for him to continue. It's hard to be quiet, I decide, but worth it if I can learn something of use from this strange man. Not that there's really any point – I don't fancy my chances as a real life victor just now. Even Talon strikes me as more likely to win, though, if I got the upper...

"You're daydreaming again." Hannibal frowns at me and it takes me a second to notice that Talon had rejoined us. His eyes were rimmed with red but there was a determined set to his jaw.

I shake my head. "Not daydreaming," I say. "Just thinking. Got a lot on my mind. But I'm listening now, promise." A giggle rises in my throat when I stifle the urge to offer my pinkie to seal our promise, but I don't think Hannibal would appreciate that joke. I didn't want to push him too far just yet.

"Good." His brows are raised like he expects me to interrupt him again, but when I stay silent he starts to talk, "The most important thing is that you forge an alliance. Ivy will disagree with me here, but I'm telling you, do _not _go it alone."

"Why not?" Talon asks. "Won't whoever we try to team up with just kill us anyway? We'll just be easy targets."

"Then show them what you can do," Hannibal says. "Come up with some skill they can't refuse, make them see that having you as a part of the team would be beneficial to them more than it would you. If you have to, then lie your way in."

"Lie?" I frown. "I don't think I could be a convincing liar."

"I can lie," Talon brags, his young face lighting up with the size of his smile. He looks so proud that both Hannibal and I refrain from voicing any doubt. Instead, our male mentor claps him on the shoulder.

"Good," Hannibal says. "You'll do good, kid, you tell them whatever you have to get what you need. When the bloodbath comes, it's important that you're on the right side. Weapons and allies will save your life."

"Or end it sooner," Ivy chips in from her place across the carriage. I didn't see her enter, but she was perched on the edge of a short bar making herself quite at home with a bottle of something pink and fruity looking. "You ally, you die."

"We're supposed to be mentoring them together, my dear," Hannibal says, rubbing his forehead with the palms of his hands.

"Then don't give them such ridiculous advice," Ivy retorts. She rolls her eyes and downs a mouthful of pink straight from the bottle before she looks at us. "Would you rather die honourably or have your throats slit in the night?"

The proud flush disappears from Talon's cheeks and I cough to cover our silences. "Is neither an option?" I ask her. "Last year there was the one with the trident – Odair, wasn't it? - that looked like a dishonourable, interesting way to go."

"If it's interest you've come for, you picked the wrong place, little girl." Ivy snorts and stares at Talon. "Well, boy. Which do you choose?"

"I'd rather not die at all," he mumbles and wipes at his sore cheeks.

"Then get your act together." Ivy caps her bottle and sets it down beside her. "The most important thing isn't making allies – it's getting sponsors. If you can convince the Capitol to love you, you're going to get sponsors. Get sponsors and you can get gifts without the trouble of the Cornucopia. You mentioned the Odair boy," she says, glancing back down at me. "Look what popularity got him. A _trident._"

I fold my arms over my chest and do my best to look self-important. "Well _I _don't know how to use a trident. I can't fish for my life."

The comment doesn't earn me the giggle I'd hoped for, not even from patient Hannibal, but rather three sets of eyes glare my way. "Then," Ivy says, "you'll have to hope we can send a milk pail and cowbell."

Hannibal pats me on the knee. "I think you'll do a fine job of winning them over," he tells me. Though it looks all wrong on his weathered face, not to mention awkward and unpractised, he winks. "Act natural."

"Act natural?" Ivy scoffs. "That's your advice? It's going to get them killed; they've no chance."

"Killed?" Talon squeaks, but he is ignored.

Hannibal sighs and rises from his seat. "Cut them some slack," he says as he walks over to Ivy. "They're trying." Just when she looks about to protest, he leans up and whispers something into her ear that brings a taut smile to her lips. Ivy nods and claps him on the back as he leaves us.

"We'll talk more about strategy when we get there," she says. "For now we wait, you may as well tell me something about yourselves. It'll help in the long run."

"Like what?" Talon asks.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry for his apparent innocence. In the end I just say, "What you're good at, I think she means." Ivy nods to let me know I'm right, then flicks her wrist in a gesture for me to answer her query. "I can dance," I tell her, even though it's both a total lie and completely irrelevant to the situation.

Ivy rolls her eyes, choosing to ignore me in favour of pointing at Talon. "And you, boy?"

"I don't think I'm good at much," Talon mumbles, brushing back long hair over his ears. "I just go to school and go home, that's it."

"Well aren't we lucky this year," Ivy mutters. I can hear the sarcasm in her voice and it makes me want to smile bright and fire some back at her. I only restrain myself because she adds, "Lucky at least we have a little time to figure this out."

"Didn't we agree that lucky wasn't the word of the day?" I wonder, crossing and uncrossing my legs as they grow restless. Sitting still for so long has never been a talent of mine – I'm itching to get outside in the fresh air and stretch.

"Today's word is Reaping," Talon says, his lower lip jutting out. "That sounds right."

"You _do _have a sense of humour." I grin so hard it feels like my cheeks are going to split open. "We might get along, after all."

"Get along?" Talon repeats, bitterness tainting the way he speaks. His nose wrinkles up and his damp eyes narrow to slits. "I don't want to get along with you. I don't want to get along with _any _of you, I want to go home!"

Ivy mutters something I don't quite catch and takes another swig from the mystery pink liquid. I have to bite back the urge to tell Talon that there are only two of us in here, that saying 'any of you' doesn't make as much sense as he'd want it to. Sudden sadness in my gut keeps me quiet as I rise from my seat and brush down my dress. Eyes glued to the toes of my dirty boots, I make it my mission to storm out as gracefully as is bovinely possible.

_Think cow, _I tell myself, ignoring Ivy's snickers when I moo for my own amusement. It's a good feeling, being laughed at, good enough that I start to feel a better about myself already. When the door slides shut behind me and I'm alone in the next carriage, I take a deep breath and calm my mooing.

Everything here is so shiny and new that I can't help but marvel at it all. The floor beneath my feet is covered in strange metal that reflects pink on the bottoms of each of the doors – I can't decide whether it's ghastly or enchanting. One of these doors leads to a kind of bedroom for me while we travel – Hannibal told me so himself – I only wish he'd given me instructions on how to find it.

The first one opens into the whitest bathroom I've ever seen. There's no tub like the one we have at home, but a strange white nozzle pokes out from the ceiling that I think must be a shower, and I don't take the time to look at the rest once a low voice sounds behind me.

"Looking for something?" When I turn to face her, Kazia is beaming at me and her spidery lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. She's changed out of her tree ensemble and now wears a slip of shiny green fabric that clings to her every curve and matches the remainder of her Reaping make-up.

I smile up at her and shake hair out of my face like a wet dog. "I was going to take a nap," I tell her. "All the excitement is getting the better of me."

That seems to be exactly what she wanted to her – Kazia's eyes light up with the force of her smile and she cups my chin in her long-nailed fingers. "Not to worry, darling, it happens to the best of us. Now, follow me!"

I march behind her as she leads me along the impossibly long carriage until we reach the very last door on the right side. These Capitol trains are a mystery to me – a mystery I'm glad to have experienced, too. "This one's mine?"

"For now," Kazia says with a nod. She reaches out and slides the door aside to reveal a tiny cupboard of a room – if I could even call it that – with nothing more than a thin bed pressed into the corner. "Enjoy."

"The budget didn't cover it, huh?" I laugh and step inside, underwhelmed by the plainness of it all. "If I win, remind me to donate a portion of my winnings to the redecoration of these things. It's a worthy cause." The joke falls flat, and I know it's my fault because a lump has risen in my throat and suddenly I find I'm crying.

Kazia strokes my hair and steps back, the door sliding shut behind her. As tears fall freely down my cheeks, all I can think is, _what have I done?_


End file.
